Documentos de Académico
Documentos de Profesional
Documentos de Cultura
, by Bliss Carman
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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY VOLUME IV. ***
_I Home: Friendship
II Love
III Sorrow and Consolation
IV The Higher Life
V Nature
VI Fancy Sentiment
VII Descriptive: Narrative
VIII National Spirit
IX Tragedy: Humor
X Poetical Quotations_
Editor-in-Chief
BLISS CARMAN
Associate Editors
Managing Editor
John R. Howard
1904
Vol. IV
NOTICE OF COPYRIGHTS.
I.
Messrs. T.Y. CROWELL & CO., New York.--_S.K. Bolton_: "Her Creed."
Messrs. E.P. DUTTON & CO., New York.--_Ph. Brooks_: "O Little Town of
Bethlehem;" _E. Sears_: "The Angel's Song."
II.
American poems in this volume by the authors whose names are given
below are the copyrighted property of the authors, or of their
representatives named in parenthesis, and may not be reprinted without
their permission, which for the present work has been courteously
granted.
_A. Coles_ (A. Coles, Jr., M.D.); _J.A. Dix_ (Rev. Morgan Dix, D.D.);
_P.L. Dunbar; W.C. Gannett; W. Gladden; S.P. McL. Pratt; O. Huckel;
Ray Palmer_ (Dr. Charles R. Palmer); _A.D.F. Randolph_ (Arthur D.F.
Randolph).
BY WASHINGTON GLADDEN.
The time is not long past when the copulative in that title might have
suggested to some minds an antithesis,--as acid and alkali, or heat
and cold. That religion could have affiliation with anything
so worldly as poetry would have seemed to some pious people a
questionable proposition. There were the Psalms, in the Old Testament,
to be sure; and the minister had been heard to allude to them as
poetry: might not that indicate some heretical taint in him, caught,
perchance, from the "German neologists" whose influence we were
beginning to dread? It did not seem quite orthodox to describe the
Psalms as poems; and when, a little later, some one ventured to speak
of the Book of Job as a _dramatic_ poem, there were many who were
simply horrified. Indeed, it was difficult for many good people
to consider the Biblical writings as in any sense literature; they
belonged in a category by themselves, and the application to them
of the terms by which we describe similar writings in other books
appeared to many good men and women a kind of profanation. This was
not, of course, the attitude of educated men and women, but something
akin to it affected large numbers of excellent people.
We are well past that period, and the relations of religion and
poetry may now be discussed with no fear of misunderstandings. These
relations are close and vital. Poetry is indebted to religion for its
largest and loftiest inspirations, and religion is indebted to poetry
for its subtlest and most luminous interpretations.
If, then, religion is the supreme experience of the human spirit, and
that experience finds its most perfect literary expression in poetry,
the present volume ought to contain a precious collection of the best
literature. And any one who wished to give to a friend a volume which
would convey to him the essential elements of religion would probably
be safe to choose this volume rather than any prose treatise upon
theology ever printed. He who reads this book through will get
a clearer and truer idea of what the religious life is than any
philosophical discussion could give him. For this poetry is an attempt
to express life, not to explain it. It offers pictures or reports
rather than analyses of religious experience. It gives utterance
to the real life of religion in the individual soul, and is not a
generalization of religious thoughts and feelings.
The sources from which this collection has been drawn are abundant
and varied. The psalmody and hymnology of the church furnish a vast
preserve, the exploration of which would be a large undertaking. It
must be confessed that the pious people who had in their hands some
of the ancient hymn-books were justified in feeling that religion and
poetry were not closely related, for many of the hymns they were
wont to sing were guiltless of any poetic character. It was too often
evident that the hymn-writer had been more intent on giving metrical
form to proper theological concepts than on giving utterance to his
own religious life. But the feeling has been growing that in hymns, at
any rate, life is more than dogma; and we have now some collections of
hymns that come pretty near being books of poetry. The improvement in
this department of literature within the past twenty-five years has
been marked. There is still, indeed, in many hymnals, and especially
in hymnals for Sunday schools and social meetings, much doggerel; but
large recent contributions of hymns which are true poetry, many of the
best of them from American sources, have made it possible to furnish
our congregations with admirable manuals of praise.
This is true not only of the hymns of the church but of many poems
that are not suitable for singing. English poetry is especially rich
in meditative and devotional elements, and of no period has this
been more true than of the nineteenth century. Cowper, Wordsworth,
Coleridge, the Brownings, Tennyson and Matthew Arnold, on the other
side of the sea, with Bryant, Longfellow, Emerson, Whittier,
Lowell, Holmes, Lanier, Sill and Gilder on this side--these and many
others--have made most precious additions to our store of religious
poetry. The century has been one of great perturbations in religious
thought; the advent of the evolutionary philosophy threatened all the
theological foundations, and there was need of a thorough revision
of the dogmas which were based on a mechanical theology, and of a
reinterpretation of the life of the Spirit. In all this the poets have
given us the strongest help. The great poet cannot be oblivious of
these deepest themes. He need not be a dogmatician, indeed he cannot
be, for his business is insight, not ratiocination; but the problems
which theology is trying to solve must always be before his mind, and
he must have something to say about them, if he hopes to command the
attention of thoughtful men. Yet while we need not depreciate
the service that has been rendered by preachers and professional
theologians who have sought to put the facts of the religious
life into the forms of the new philosophy, we must own our deeper
obligation to the poets, by whose vision the spiritual realities have
been most clearly discerned.
The mystical faith by which man is united to God can have no clearer
confession. And in the great poem of "Tintern Abbey" this truth
received an expression which has become classical;--it must be counted
one of the greatest words of that continuing revelation by which the
truths of religion are given permanent form:
The same great testimony to the divine Presence in our lives is borne
by many other witnesses in memorable words. Lowell's voice is clear:
has shown us how the mysteries of being are shared by the commonest
lives; the short lyric "Wages" condenses into a few lines the
strongest proof of the life to come; and "Crossing the Bar" has borne
many a spirit in peace out to the boundless sea.
But, after all, Browning's great hymns of faith are those in which he
faces the future, like "Prospice," and the prologue of "La Saisiaz,"
and the epilogue of "Asolando,"--triumphant songs, in which one of the
healthiest-minded of human beings showed himself:
"One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed though right were worsted wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake!"
How many more there are--of those whom the world reckons as the
greater bards, and of those whom it assigns to lower places--to whom
we have found ourselves indebted for the clearing of our vision or the
quickening of our pulses, in our studies or our meditations upon the
deepest questions of life! How many there are, whose faces we
never saw, but who by some luminous word, some strain vibrant with
tenderness, some flash of insight, have endeared themselves to us
forever! They are the friends of our spirits, ministers to us of the
holiest things. They have clothed for us the highest truth in forms of
beauty; they have made it winsome and real and dear and memorable. Is
there anything better than this, that one man can do for another?
Washington Gladden
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY:
"RELIGION AND POETRY."
By _Washington Gladden_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
JOHN MILTON
_Photogravure from an engraving_.
ISAAC WATTS
_From a contemporary engraving_.
CHARLES WESLEY
_From a contemporary engraving_.
SIR GALAHAD
"My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure."
DANTE ALIGHIERI
_After a photograph from the fresco by His friend Giotto, discovered
under the whitewash on a watt of the Bargello palace; now in the Museo
Nazionale, Florence, Italy_.
I.
* * * * *
SONG.
* * * * *
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
All the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod,
Are the people eternally seeking for the signs and steps of a God?
Westward across the ocean, and Northward across the snow,
Do they all stand gazing, as ever, and what do the wisest know?
For the Destiny drives us together, like deer in a pass of the hills;
Above is the sky and around us the sound of the shot that kills;
Pushed by a power we see not, and struck by a hand unknown,
We pray to the trees for shelter, and press our lips to a stone.
The trees wave a shadowy answer, and the rock frowns hollow and grim,
And the form and the nod of the demon are caught in the twilight dim;
And we look to the sunlight falling afar on the mountain crest,--
Is there never a path runs upward to a refuge there and a rest?
The path, ah! who has shown it, and which is the faithful guide?
The haven, ah! who has known it? for steep is the mountain side,
Forever the shot strikes surely, and ever the wasted breath
Of the praying multitude rises, whose answer is only death.
And the myriad idols round me, and the legion of muttering priests,
The revels and rites unholy, the dark unspeakable feasts!
What have they rung from the Silence? Hath even a whisper come
Of the secret, Whence and Whither? Alas! for the gods are dumb.
Shall I list to the word of the English, who come from the uttermost sea?
"The Secret, hath it been told you, and what is your message to me?"
It is naught but the wide-world story how the earth and the heavens began,
How the gods are glad and angry, and a Deity once was man.
I had thought, "Perchance in the cities where the rulers of India dwell,
Whose orders flash from the far land, who girdle the earth with a spell,
They have fathomed the depths we float on, or measured the unknown main--"
Sadly they turn from the venture, and say that the quest is vain.
Is life, then, a dream and delusion, and where shall the dreamer awake?
Is the world seen like shadows on water, and what if the mirror break?
Shall it pass as a camp that is struck, as a tent that is gathered and gone
From the sands that were lamp-lit at eve, and at morning are level and lone?
Is there naught in the heaven above, whence the hail and the levin are hurled,
But the wind that is swept around us by the rush of the rolling world?
The wind that shall scatter my ashes, and bear me to silence and sleep
With the dirge, and the sounds of lamenting, and voices of women who weep.
BRAHMA.
* * * * *
HYMN TO ZEUS.
Most glorious of all the Undying, many-named, girt round with awe!
Jove, author of Nature, applying to all things the rudder of law--
Hail! Hail! for it justly rejoices the races whose life is a span
To lift unto thee their voices--the Author and Framer of man.
For we are thy sons; thou didst give us the symbols of speech at our birth,
Alone of the things that live, and mortal move upon earth.
Wherefore thou shalt find me extolling and ever singing thy praise;
Since thee the great Universe, rolling on its path round the world, obeys:--
Obeys thee, wherever thou guidest, and gladly is bound in thy bands,
So great is the power thou confidest, with strong, invincible hands,
To thy mighty ministering servant, the bolt of the thunder, that flies,
Two-edged like a sword, and fervent, that is living and never dies.
All nature, in fear and dismay, doth quake in the path of its stroke,
What time thou preparest the way for the one Word thy lips have spoke,
Which blends with lights smaller and greater, which pervadeth and thrilleth all
things,
So great is thy power and thy nature--in the Universe Highest of Kings!
On earth, of all deeds that are done, O God! there is none without thee;
In the holy ether not one, nor one on the face of the sea,
Save the deeds that evil men, driven by their own blind folly, have planned;
But things that have grown uneven are made even again by thy hand;
And things unseemly grow seemly, the unfriendly are friendly to thee;
For no good and evil supremely thou hast blended in one by decree.
For all thy decree is one ever--a Word that endureth for aye,
Which mortals, rebellious, endeavor to flee from and shun to obey--
Ill-fated, that, worn with proneness for the lord-ship of goodly things,
Neither hear nor behold, in its oneness, the law that divinity brings;
Which men with reason obeying, might attain unto glorious life,
No longer aimlessly straying in the paths of ignoble strife.
There are men with a zeal unblest, that are wearied with following of fame,
And men with a baser quest, that are turned to lucre and shame.
There are men too that pamper and pleasure the flesh with delicate stings:
All these desire beyond measure to be other than all these things.
Great Jove, all-giver, dark-clouded, great Lord of the thunderbolt's breath!
Deliver the men that are shrouded in ignorance dismal as death.
O Father! dispel from their souls the darkness, and grant them the light
Of reason, thy stay, when the whole wide world thou rulest with might,
That we, being honored, may honor thy name with the music of hymns,
Extolling the deeds of the Donor, unceasing, as rightly beseems
Mankind; for no worthier trust is awarded to God or to man
Than forever to glory with justice in the law that endures and is One.
* * * * *
TE DEUM LAUDAMUS.
Version of the
AMERICAN EPISCOPAL CHURCH PRAYER-BOOK.
* * * * *
ALEXANDER POPE.
* * * * *
ODE.
JOSEPH ADDISON.
* * * * *
GEORGE WITHER.
* * * * *
HYMN
* * * * *
* * * * *
SUNRISE.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
ALEXANDER POPE.
* * * * *
WILLIAM COWPER.
* * * * *
GOD.
* * * * *
GOD IS EVERYWHERE.
ROBERT NICOLL.
* * * * *
* * * * *
GOOD-BYE.
* * * * *
ISAAC WATTS.
* * * * *
DELIGHT IN GOD.
FRANCIS QUARLES.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE VOYAGE.
ELIZA SCUDDER.
* * * * *
PRAISE TO GOD.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
PHILLIPS BROOKS.
* * * * *
* * * * *
EPIPHANY.
REGINALD HEBER.
* * * * *
THE HYMN.
In consecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth,
The lares and lemures moan with midnight plaint;
In urns and altars round
A drear and dying sound
Affrights the flamens at their service quaint;
And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.
MILTON.
* * * * *
A CHRISTMAS HYMN.
ALFRED DOMETT.
* * * * *
TRYSTE NO�L.
* * * * *
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.
A BALLAD.
And there came an old man from the desert one day,
With a maid on a mule by that road;
And a child on her bosom reclined, and the way
Let them straight to the gypsy's abode;
And they seemed to have travelled a wearisome path,
From thence many, many a league,--
From a tyrant's pursuit, from an enemy's wrath,
Spent with toil and o'ercome with fatigue.
And the gypsy came forth from her dwelling, and prayed
That the pilgrims would rest them awhile;
And she offered her couch to that delicate maid,
Who had come many, many a mile.
And she fondled the babe with affection's caress,
And she begged the old man would repose;
"Here the stranger," she said, "ever finds free access,
And the wanderer balm for his woes."
Then her guests from the glare of the noonday she led
To a seat in her grotto so cool;
Where she spread them a banquet of fruits, and a shed,
With a manger, was found for the mule;
With the wine of the palm-tree, with dates newly culled,
All the toil of the day she beguiled;
And with song in a language mysterious she lulled
On her bosom the wayfaring child.
* * * * *
CANA.
* * * * *
* * * * *
DE SHEEPFOL'.
De massa ob de sheepfol',
Dat guards de sheepfol' bin,
Look out in de gloomerin' meadows,
Wha'r de long night rain begin--
So he call to de hirelin' shepa'd,
"Is my sheep, is dey all come in?"
Oh den, says de hirelin' shepa'd:
"Dey's some, dey's black and thin,
And some, dey's po' ol' wedda's;
But de res', dey's all brung in.
But de res', dey's all brung in."
* * * * *
MATTHEW ARNOLD.
* * * * *
TWO SAYINGS.
* * * * *
SIDNEY LANIER.
* * * * *
* * * * *
MYRRH-BEARERS.[A]
Three women crept at break of day
A-grope along the shadowy way
Where Joseph's tomb and garden lay.
* * * * *
LITANY.
THE CHRIST.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
WRESTLING JACOB.
FIRST PART.
SECOND PART.
* * * * *
JOHN KEBLE.
* * * * *
"ROCK OF AGES."
EDWARD H. RICH.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
LOVE TO CHRIST.
With all thy hart, with all thy soule and mind,
Thou must him love, and his beheasts embrace;
All other loves, with which the world doth blind
Weake fancies, and stirre up affections base,
Thou must renounce and utterly displace,
And give thy selfe unto him full and free,
That full and freely gave himselfe to thee.
EDMUND SPENSER.
* * * * *
Yes; thou art still the Life, thou art the Way
The holiest know; Light, Life, the Way of heaven!
THEODORE PARKER.
* * * * *
* * * * *
TO-MORROW.
* * * * *
* * * * *
ISAAC WATTS.
* * * * *
MESSIAH.
ALEXANDER POPE.
* * * * *
DIES IRAE.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
O FIRE OF GOD, THE COMFORTER.
* * * * *
ROBERT HERRICK.
* * * * *
God is good.
And flight is destined for the callow wing,
And the high appetite implies the food,
And souls most reach the level whence they spring;
O Life of very life! set free our powers,
Hasten the travail of the yearning hours.
II.
* * * * *
WHAT IS PRAYER?
JAMES MONTGOMERY.
* * * * *
G. BENNETT.
* * * * *
SEASONS OF PRAYER.
* * * * *
EXHORTATION TO PRAYER.
For who can tell, when sleep thine eyes shall close,
That earthly cares and woes
To thee may e'er return?
Arouse, my soul!
Slumber control,
And let thy lamp burn brightly;
So shall thine eyes discern
Things pure and sightly;
Taught by the Spirit, learn
Never on a prayerless bed
To lay thine unblest head.
MARGARET MERCER.
* * * * *
* * * * *
_King (rising)._ My words fly up, my thoughts remain below;
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
SHAKESPEARE.
* * * * *
* * * * *
DARKNESS IS THINNING.
* * * * *
PRAISE.
GEORGE HERBERT.
* * * * *
PRAYER.
* * * * *
DESIRE.
MATTHEW ARNOLD.
* * * * *
OLIVER HUCKEL.
* * * * *
THE AIM.
* * * * *
* * * * *
IN A LECTURE-ROOM.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THEODORE PARKER.
* * * * *
ASCRIPTION.
* * * * *
WASHINGTON GLADDEN.
III.
* * * * *
FAITH.
GEORGE SANTAYANA.
* * * * *
As it is had in strengthe,
And forces of Christes waye,
It wil prevaile at lengthe,
Though all the devils saye _naye_.
ANNE ASKEWE.
* * * * *
* * * * *
To spend eternity
In heaven's unclouded light!
From sorrow, sin, and frailty free,
Beholding and resembling thee,--
O too transporting sight!
Prospect too fair
For flesh to bear!
Haste! haste! my Lord, and soon transport me there!
* * * * *
A MYSTICAL ECSTASY.
FRANCIS QUARLES.
* * * * *
MATHILDE BLIND.
* * * * *
THE CALL.
GEORGE HERBERT.
* * * * *
HOPE.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
[Footnote A: This poem was written when the author was but twenty-one
years of age.]
* * * * *
A QUERY.
_GOOD WORDS_.
* * * * *
HUMILITY.
JAMES MONTGOMERY.
* * * * *
* * * * *
SERVICE.
ROBERT BROWNING.
* * * * *
God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above:
The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love.
"My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells,
The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels.
Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair;
Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air.
The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came
Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame.
There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear,
Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer.
And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell,
And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell!
And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake,
Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake:
* * * * *
THE SELF-EXILED.
WALTER C. SMITH.
* * * * *
SYMPATHY.
* * * * *
SIR GALAHAD.
* * * * *
* * * * *
SANTA FILOMENA.
[FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.]
* * * * *
CHARLES MACKAY.
* * * * *
SOGGARTH AROON.
JOHN BANIM.
* * * * *
* * * * *
PART FIRST.
PART SECOND.
His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine,
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine,
That mingle their softness and quiet in one
With the shaggy unrest they float down upon;
And the voice that was softer than silence said:--
Lo, it is I, be not afraid!
In many climes, without avail,
Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail:
Behold, it is here,--this cup which thou
Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now;
This crust is my body broken for thee,
This water His blood that died on the tree;
The Holy Supper is kept indeed
In whatso we share with another's need.
Not, what we give, but what we share,--
For the gift without the giver is bare:
Who gives himself with his alms feeds three.--
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me."
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
LEIGH HUNT.
* * * * *
LOVE.
IV.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
JOHN LEYDEN.
* * * * *
JAMES GRAHAME.
* * * * *
* * * * *
VESPER HYMN.
SAMUEL LONGFELLOW.
* * * * *
VESPER HYMN.
The day is done; the weary day of thought and toil is past,
Soft falls the twilight cool and gray on the tired earth at last:
By wisest teachers wearied, by gentlest friends oppressed,
In thee alone, the soul, outworn, refreshment finds, and rest.
And when refreshed the soul once more puts on new life and power;
Oh, let thine image. Lord, alone, gild the first waking hour!
Let that dear Presence dawn and glow, fairer than morn's first ray,
And thy pure radiance overflow the splendor of the day.
I cannot dread the darkness where thou wilt watch o'er me,
Nor smile to greet the sunrise unless thy smile I see;
Creator, Saviour, Comforter! on thee my soul is cast;
At morn, at night, in earth, in heaven, be thou my First and Last!
ELIZA SCUDDER.
* * * * *
PHILIP DODDRIDGE.
* * * * *
THE WORD.
* * * * *
* * * * *
All the hearts are not dead, not under the sod,
That those breaths can blow open to heaven and God!
Ah, "Silver Street" flows by a bright shining road,--
Oh, not to the hymns that in harmony flowed,--
But the sweet human psalms of the old-fashioned choir,
To the girl that sang alto--the girl that sang air!
To the land of the leal they have gone with their song,
Where the choir and the chorus together belong,
Oh be lifted, ye gates! Let me hear them again--
Bless�d song, bless�d singers! forever, Amen!
BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.
* * * * *
A LANCASHIRE DOXOLOGY.
* * * * *
REBECCA'S HYMN.
FROM "IVANHOE."
* * * * *
HORATIUS BONAR.
* * * * *
THE MEETING.
* * * * *
* * * * *
[Footnote A: At once.]
* * * * *
* * * * *
ROBERT BROWNING.
* * * * *
THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS.
SAMUEL BUTLER.
* * * * *
THE PROBLEM.
* * * * *
ON AN INFANT
* * * * *
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
REBECCA S. NICHOLS.
* * * * *
HER CREED.
* * * * *
MY CREED.
ALICE CAREY.
* * * * *
GIVE ME THY HEART.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
DAY BREAKS.
CHARLES MACKAY.
* * * * *
MY HOME.
ROBERT HERRICK.
* * * * *
PEACE.
GEORGE HERBERT.
* * * * *
PEACE.
* * * * *
LIVING WATERS.
CAROLINE S. SPENCER.
* * * * *
DEVOTION.
PHILIP MASSINGER.
* * * * *
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
ULTIMA VERITAS.
In the bitter waves of woe,
Beaten and tossed about
By the sullen winds that blow
From the desolate shores of doubt,--
WASHINGTON GLADDEN.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
LIFE.
JONES VERY.
* * * * *
BOOK I.
BOOK IX.
THE TEMPTATION.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE FALL.
BOOK XI.
EVE'S LAMENT.
EVE TO ADAM.
BOOK XII.
MILTON.
V.
HUMAN EXPERIENCE.
* * * * *
A PSALM OF LIFE.
* * * * *
GEORGE HERBERT.
* * * * *
DUTY.
* * * * *
ODE TO DUTY.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
* * * * *
SELF-INQUIRY.
ISAAC WATTS.
* * * * *
THE FLESH.
THE WORLD.
THE DEVIL.
* * * * *
GEORGE HERBERT.
* * * * *
LUCY E. AKERMAN.
* * * * *
THE WORLD.
* * * * *
* * * * *
A FOLK-SONG.
"Behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you
as wheat."--LUKE xxii. 31.
* * * * *
VANITY.
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
DIFFERENT MINDS.
* * * * *
MY RECOVERY.
Translation of W. TAYLOR.
* * * * *
* * * * *
SAINT CHRISTOPHER.
"Carry me across!"
The Syrian heard, rose up, and braced
His huge limbs to the accustomed toil:
"My child, see how the waters boil?
The night-black heavens look angry-faced;
But life is little loss.
* * * * *
ROBERT SOUTHWELL.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE LABORER.
WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER.
* * * * *
A TRUE LENT.
Is it to fast an hour.
Or ragg'd to go,
Or show
A downcast look, and sour?
ROBERT HERRICK.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
GEORGE HERBERT.
* * * * *
BRIEFS.
Two mites, two drops, yet all her house and land,
Fall from a steady heart, though trembling hand:
The other's wanton wealth foams high, and brave;
The other cast away, she only gave.
RICHARD CRASHAW.
* * * * *
* * * * *
EXAMPLE.
JOHN KEBLE.
* * * * *
SMALL BEGINNINGS.
A traveller through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lea;
And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade, at evening time, to breath its early vows;
And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to bask beneath its boughs;
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds sweet music bore;
It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore.
A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern,
A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn;
He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink;
He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink.
He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life besides.
A dreamer dropped a random thought; 't was old, and yet 't was new;
A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true.
It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light became
A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame.
The thought was small; its issue great; a watch-fire on the hill,
It shed its radiance far adown, and cheers the valley still!
A nameless man, amid the crowd that thronged the daily mart,
Let fall a word of Hope and Love, unstudied, from the heart;
A whisper on the tumult thrown,--a transitory breath,--
It raised a brother from the dust; it saved a soul from death.
O germ! O fount! O word of love! O thought at random cast!
Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last.
CHARLES MACKAY.
* * * * *
* * * * *
NICHOLAS BRETON.
* * * * *
WASHINGTON GLADDEN.
* * * * *
TWO RABBIS.
Side by side
In the low sunshine by the turban stone
They knelt; each made his brother's woe his own,
Forgetting, in the agony and stress
Of pitying love, his claim of selfishness;
Peace, for his friend besought, his own became;
His prayers were answered in another's name;
And, when at last they rose up to embrace,
Each saw God's pardon in his brother's face!
* * * * *
JUDGE NOT.
* * * * *
ROBERT BURNS.
* * * * *
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
IN PRISON.
* * * * *
* * * * *
FOUND WANTING.
EMILY DICKINSON.
* * * * *
* * * * *
EASY TO DRIFT.
OLIVER HUCKEL.
* * * * *
FRANKFORD'S SOLILOQUY.
THOMAS HEYWOOD.
* * * * *
CONSCIENCE.
* * * * *
* * * * *
UP HILL.
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.
* * * * *
* * * * *
ON HIS BLINDNESS.
MILTON.
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE PILGRIMAGE.
* * * * *
HORATIUS BONAR.
* * * * *
MILTON.
* * * * *
LOW SPIRITS.
* * * * *
I SAW THEE.
RAY PALMER.
* * * * *
LOSSE IN DELAYES.
ROBERT SOUTHWELL.
* * * * *
HENRY VAUGHAN.
* * * * *
PATIENCE.
* * * * *
SOMETIME.
* * * * *
FATHER, THY WILL BE DONE!
VI.
* * * * *
THE PROSPECT.
* * * * *
Gone, gone!
Oh, never more to cheer
The mariner who holds his course alone
On the Atlantic, through the weary night,
When the stars turn to watchers, and do sleep,
Shall it appear,
With the sweet fixedness of certain light,
Down-shining on the shut eyes of the deep.
Vain, vain!
Hopeless most idly then, shall he look forth,
That mariner from his bark.
Howe'er the north
Does raise his certain lamp, when tempests lower--
He sees no more that perished light again!
And gloomier grows the hour
Which may not, through the thick and crowding dark,
Restore that lost and loved one to her tower.
And lone,
Where its first splendors shone,
Shall be that pleasant company of stars:
How should they know that death
Such perfect beauty mars?
And like the earth, its crimson bloom and breath;
Fallen from on high,
Their lights grow blasted by its touch, and die!--
All their concerted springs of harmony
Snapped rudely, and the generous music gone.
* * * * *
PASSING AWAY.
JOHN PIERPONT.
* * * * *
LINES
* * * * *
MY AIN COUNTREE.
I've his gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the King
To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring:
Wi' een an' wi' hearts runnin' owre, we shall see
The King in his beauty in our ain countree.
* * * * *
COMING.
So I am watching quietly
Every day.
Whenever the sun shines brightly,
I rise and say:
"Surely it is the shining of his face!"
And look unto the gates of his high place
Beyond the sea;
For I know he is coming shortly
To summon me.
And when a shadow falls across the window
Of my room,
Where I am working my appointed task,
I lift my head to watch the door, and ask
If he is come;
And the angel answers sweetly
In my home:
"Only a few more shadows,
And he will come."
* * * * *
EUTHANASIA.
* * * * *
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
* * * * *
WHEN.
* * * * *
BURIAL OF MOSES.
* * * * *
THE RESIGNATION.
THOMAS CHATTERTON.
* * * * *
"ONLY WAITING."
* * * * *
HOPEFULLY WAITING.
"Blessed are they who are homesick, for they shall come at
last to their Father's house."--HEINRICH STILLING.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
EPILOGUE.
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake.
ROBERT BROWNING.
* * * * *
* * * * *
ALEXANDER POPE.
* * * * *
ODE.
I.
II.
The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
III.
IV.
V.
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy;
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows--
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is nature's priest
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended:
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
VI.
VII.
IX.
X.
XI
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
* * * * *
SOLILOQUY: ON IMMORTALITY.
JOSEPH ADDISON.
* * * * *
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
* * * * *
O Land! O Land!
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our fate allotted
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great departed,
Into the Silent Land!
HEAVEN.
EMILY DICKINSON.
* * * * *
THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN.
High thoughts!
They come and go,
Like the soft breathings of a listening maiden,
While round me flow
The winds, from woods and fields with gladness laden:
When the corn's rustle on the ear doth come--
When the eve's beetle sounds its drowsy hum--
When the stars, dew-drops of the summer sky,
Watch over all with soft and loving eye--
While the leaves quiver
By the lone river,
And the quiet heart
From depths doth call
And garners all--
Earth grows a shadow
Forgotten whole,
And heaven lives
In the blessed soul!
High thoughts
They are with me
When, deep within the bosom of the forest,
Thy mourning melody
Abroad into the sky, thou, throstle! pourest.
When the young sunbeams glance among the trees--
When on the ear comes the soft song of bees--
When every branch has its own favorite bird
And songs of summer from each thicket heard!--
Where the owl flitteth,
Where the roe sitteth,
And holiness
Seems sleeping there;
While nature's prayer
Goes up to heaven
In purity,
Till all is glory
And joy to me!
High thoughts!
They are my own
When I am resting on a mountain's bosom,
And see below me strown
The huts and homes where humble virtues blossom;
When I can trace each streamlet through the meadow,
When I can follow every fitful shadow--
When I can watch the winds among the corn,
And see the waves along the forest borne;
Where blue-bell and heather
Are blooming together,
And far doth come
The Sabbath bell,
O'er wood and fell;
I hear the beating
Of nature's heart:
Heaven is before me--
God! thou art.
High thoughts!
They visit us
In moments when the soul is dim and darkened;
They come to bless,
After the vanities to which we hearkened:
When weariness hath come upon the spirit--
(Those hours of darkness which we all inherit)--
Bursts there not through a glint of warm sunshine,
A wing�d thought which bids us not repine?
In joy and gladness,
In mirth and sadness,
Come signs and tokens;
Life's angel brings,
Upon its wings,
Those bright communings
The soul doth keep--
Those thoughts of heaven
So pure and deep!
ROBERT NICOLL.
* * * * *
NEARER HOME.
PHOEBE CARY.
* * * * *
MEETING ABOVE.
WILLIAM LEGGETT.
* * * * *
ROBERT SOUTHEY.
* * * * *
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
MORTIMER COLLINS.
* * * * *
THE ANSWER.
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
In darkness as in light,
Hidden alike from view,
I sleep, I wake, as in his sight
Who looks all nature through.
JAMES MONTGOMERY.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
LIFE.
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
JEREMY TAYLOR.
* * * * *
THE SPIRIT-LAND.
JONES VERY.
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
* * * * *
CHARLES MACKAY.
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
ISAAC WATTS.
* * * * *
PEACE.
HENRY VAUGHAN.
* * * * *
STAR-MIST.
FROM "STARS."
JOHN KEBLE.
* * * * *
EDMUND SPENSER.
* * * * *
SAINT AGNES.
* * * * *
Jerusalem, exulting
On that securest shore,
I hope thee, wish thee, sing thee,
And love thee evermore!
I ask not for my merit,
I seek not to deny
My merit is destruction,
A child of wrath am I;
But yet with faith I venture
And hope upon my way;
For those perennial guerdons
I labor night and day.
* * * * *
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Thy joys fain would I see;
Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief,
And take me home to Thee;
Oh! paint Thy name on my forehead,
And take me hence away,
That I may dwell with Thee in bliss,
And sing Thy praises aye.
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
PARADISE.
O Paradise, O Paradise,
Who doth not crave for rest,
Who would not seek the happy land
Where they that loved are blest?
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
O Paradise, O Paradise,
The world is growing old;
Who would not be at rest and free
Where love is never cold?
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
O Paradise, O Paradise,
Wherefore doth death delay?--
Bright death, that is the welcome dawn
Of our eternal day;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
O Paradise, O Paradise,
'Tis weary waiting here;
I long to be where Jesus is,
To feel, to see him near;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
O Paradise, O Paradise,
I want to sin no more,
I want to be as pure on earth
As on thy spotless shore;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
O Paradise, O Paradise,
I greatly long to see
The special place my dearest Lord
Is destining for me;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
O Paradise, O Paradise,
I feel 'twill not be long;
Patience! I almost think I hear
Faint fragments of thy song;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
* * * * *
HELL.
CANTO III.
* * * * *
PURGATORY.
PRAYER.
CANTO VI.
* * * * *
PRAYER OF PENITENTS.
CANTO XI.
* * * * *
MAN'S FREE-WILL.
CANTO XVI.
* * * * *
FIRE OF PURIFICATION.
CANTO XXVII.
* * * * *
* * * * *
PARADISE.
CANTO VII.
* * * * *
CANTO XIV.
* * * * *
CANTO XXXI.
DANTE.
End of Project Gutenberg's The World's Best Poetry Volume IV., by Bliss Carman
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